


Still the One

by thegirlwthekittentattoo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dom Liam Payne, It’s all the little things - verse, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Sub Zayn Malik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwthekittentattoo/pseuds/thegirlwthekittentattoo
Summary: A missing scene from “It’s all the Little Things” by SoManyDirections.Harry and Zayn have just yelled at each other in a hotel corridor, and Liam’s going to handle it. He always does.





	Still the One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoManyDirections](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyDirections/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's all the Little Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20256013) by [SoManyDirections](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyDirections/pseuds/SoManyDirections). 

> would not be possible without the love of my life, SoManyDirections. If you haven’t read “It’s all the Little Things” you are missing out and this isn’t gonna make any sense.
> 
> This runs concurrent to the latter half of Chapter 4, and comes immediately before “Sweet Creature.” 
> 
> Also, content warning: uh, Zayn’s being corrected, which involves spanking.

When the door slams shut behind them, Zayn knows he’s fucked. He doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to care. It doesn’t matter – Liam  _ warned _ him to stop and he  _ chose _ not to, and if he’s going to  _ do _ it, he may as well go big or go home.

“What the  _ fuck _ was that?” Liam’s voice is all steel and sharp edges. Zayn would rather drag himself through broken glass than disappoint Liam, ever, much less piss him off, but it feels  _ right _ . He  _ deserves _ it – he’s fucked up, big time. Majorly. Only a matter of time before he did this, before he blew it all to hell.

Liam shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over a couch, his eyes dark. “I’m waiting on an answer.”

“Fuck off.” This is an  _ explicit _ rule break. Maybe he could chalk the corridor episode up to his temper getting the best of him (which is also against the rules, but there are allowances), but this is clear. Distinctive. Zayn knows where the lines are, and he’s taking huge strides over them.

Liam’s eyebrows nearly disappear into his fringe. “ _ Excuse _ me?”

“Fuck  _ off _ ,” Zayn repeats, ignoring the warning bells going off in his head. “You can fuck off, and Harry can fuck off, and Louis and Niall, too, for all I give a  _ shit _ . I don’t, I’m  _ done _ . This is  _ bullshit _ . Think it was easy for me? It wasn’t fucking  _ easy _ for me. Harry can—can –”

His vision flashes red. Zayn pounds a fist into one of the columns, savoring the sharp sting of the contact rippling through his fist. Much easier to beat a hasty retreat into his mind than it is to play along with  _ any _ of this and—

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts he doesn’t even hear Liam behind him until there’s a palm smacked against his ass, gripping him through his trousers.

“That. Is. Enough.”

Zayn tries to tug away from Liam, but Liam catches his face in a firm hand, gripping his chin tight enough to be uncomfortable, but not cause actual pain or leave a mark.

“ _ Enough _ , Zayn.”

There’s enough steel in Liam’s tone to make Zayn freeze, meeting Liam’s eyes furiously. There’s a tiny stand-off, where Liam doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, his face a stone mask of anger and disappointment, eyes sparking.

Zayn tries one more time to jerk away, but Liam keeps his hold firm on his chin. “ _ Enough _ . You are so far over the line, mate, you’re going to need a map to get back.”

The guilt kicks in then, familiar and strong, sweeping up through the soles of his feet, burning a bright bath up to his face. “I’m—”

“Lucky for you,” Liam continues as though Zayn hasn’t said a word, “I’m an expert navigator. Get on your knees.”

“Li—”

“That was not a question or a request,” Liam says sharply. His tone is so cold it makes Zayn’s inside curl up and freeze. “Knees, Zayn.  _ Now _ .”

Zayn drops like a stone, shivering a little, his cheeks flushed, full of anger and sadness and disappointment and  _ guilt _ , god, the guilt is enough to make him sick. His stomach twinges uncomfortably. 

“You’ve been very naughty,” Liam says, his voice like gravel. Zayn scowls, anger taking hold.

“I’m not a fucking  _ child _ —” he starts, and Liam grips his chin again.

“Then quit fucking  _ acting _ like one,” Liam snaps, and releases his face. Zayn jerks away when he feels his fingers loosen, which only pisses Liam off more.  _ Good _ , Zayn thinks. Make a right job of it.

He hears the bed creak as Liam perches on the edge. “Come here.”

Zayn doesn’t move, not quite ready to give in.

“Don’t make this worse on yourself,” Liam says sharply. “Come here  _ now _ , Zayn.”

“Why don’t you go punish  _ Harry _ .”

It’s a low blow, and one Zayn knows will get under Liam’s skin. Liam likes to be the only one in control – it chafes at him having to be second, let alone  _ third _ . He’s not any of that to Zayn, of course, but Zayn can see the way being one of Harry’s three guardians eats at Liam, not that he would ever say anything. It’s just, Liam likes to be the best – the first choice. He’s not, not for Harry, and it makes Zayn roll his eyes a little bit – he’s got  _ him _ – but not being the end-all be-all must chew at him. And it does – Zayn can see it in his face.

“Because I’m punishing  _ you _ .” There’s heat behind Liam’s words, and Zayn can tell he’s frustrated. Maybe even angry. “Get up.  _ Now _ .”

Zayn jerks himself to his feet, and he hears, rather than sees, Liam get up from the bed.

“I’m going to take a shower. You are going to stay in this room,  _ right here _ , until I’m finished. Understand?”

“Fuck you,” Zayn snips out, and Liam’s eyebrows raise, and then he grips Zayn’s wrist hard enough to nearly leave a mark.

“Fine, you can stand in there with me, then.”

Liam hauls him towards the bathroom, and Zayn pulls against his grip until Liam stops, grabs Zayn around the waist, and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, hauling him to the bathroom like it’s nothing.

Liam strips down casually, but Zayn can tell he’s still irritated – it’s written in the set of his shoulders, in the hard lines of his face. Good. Zayn’s still irritated too, but he knows better than to push this any farther. Liam is not above dragging Zayn into the shower behind him, and Zayn’s not up for ruining yet another pair of trousers – or, rather, he’s not up for explaining  _ why _ he’s ruined another pair of trousers. 

Liam effectively ignores him. He steps into the shower with a soft sigh, and Zayn fixes his eyes on his own toes, on the tile in the bathroom, on anything but Liam in the shower, the guilt starting to settle in under his skin.

He shouldn’t have snapped at Harry like that. Of course it’s difficult – Zayn – more than anyone else – knows that it’s difficult to have to live two separate lives. And Harry’s had it fifteen times more difficult than Zayn has – Zayn never had to lie, never had to take an entire packet of pills in a day. Never had to sit and listen to someone talk about what it was like to live the life he wanted to live and not be able to say shit. He shouldn’t have snapped at Harry.

The shampoo bottle snaps, jerking Zayn out of his thoughts just enough that he can slip into the guilt like a warm bath.

He thinks about the things he said to Harry, about the things Harry said to him and he’s right, isn’t he, it’s just a matter of time before Liam throws him to the wolves, and he loses  _ everything _ , loses Liam and the band and everything will have all been an exercise in futility. The Daily Mail will do a piece about him in ten years, all about washed up pop star subs. He’ll be the cover story, the boy who could have, who used to, but  _ didn’t _ and--

The shower shuts off and Liam steps out, glancing at Zayn’s face. All Zayn can do is look at the drops of water, marching along Liam’s shoulder, down his arm and –

“Ready to talk?” the anger’s faded out of Liam’s tone, but the steel is still there. Still, it’s not unkind. Zayn doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve any of this. He’s terrible, dirty and unclean, more trouble than he’s worth.

“ _ Zayn _ .” Liam’s voice derails his thoughts. They’re still in the bathroom, Liam toweling his hair and then tugging a pair of sweats on. “Talk to me. I can’t help if you don’t talk.”

His emotions are still a knot in his chest, and Liam tugs a t-shirt on before taking Zayn’s hand and leading him out to the sofa.

“Zayn.” Liam’s voice is less steel now. “Talk.”

“I’m awful. I shouldn’t’ve—” He breaks off. It’s hard to breathe through that knot of shame.

“Shouldn’t have what?” Liam is steady, one hand on Zayn’s knee, the other resting on the back of his neck. It’s grounding.

“You know what.”

“I don’t, but I will if you tell me. C’mon. What did you do that you shouldn’t’ve?”

“I – yelled.”

“Okay,” Liam says. “You yelled. What else?”

“I snapped. I – disobeyed.”  _ Disobeyed _ is not the right word. Zayn isn’t sure what the right word is. Liam seems to sense this, and he shifts, the hand on the back of Zayn’s neck tightening a little.

“Can you elaborate?”

Zayn shakes his head, and it’s not a lie. He can’t. Not right this second. If he starts talking, it’ll all pour out of him in an awful, terrible rush, something ugly and unclean and terrible and –

“Come on.” Liam cuts through his thoughts. He offers his hand to Zayn and Zayn takes it. Liam takes that as permission to take both of Zayn’s hands, and squeezes. “Tell me one thing.”

“I – can’t.”

“Yes you can. Tell me one thing.”

Zayn  _ hates _ this exercise, but it always works, which is why they’re doing it now.

“I said something I shouldn’t have, to Harry. I was provoked. I –“ the guilt starts to suffocate, him but Liam’s a step ahead already, cupping Zayn’s face in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes.

“Refocus,” he says gently. “I’m right here with you, yeah? You’re doing well, you’re telling me how you feel. Try again.”

“I said something I shouldn’t have,” he says slowly, carefully picking over each of the words, “to Harry and to you.”

“Good,” Liam says, giving his hands another squeeze. “Refocus. Tell me again.”

Zayn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I told Harry he was pathetic. I told you – I told you – I –“ He can’t bear it. The guilt rises up in the back of his throat and he squeezes Liam’s hand, but it’s not enough, he’s never enough, he’ll never –

“Okay, okay, enough. That’s enough.” Liam’s voice is soft. Gentle. No more steel. Zayn doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of this, not the soft touches, not Liam’s soft brown eyes, not any of it.

“I was terrible, Liam, I – I fucked up, I fucked up bad, I—”

“Stop.” There’s the dom – Liam’s always been consistent, drawing the lines to hold Zayn in, corral all his spinning out. Zayn’s mouth snaps closed and squeezes Liam’s hand, tight. “We’re going to handle your fuck up in just a second, yeah? You know I always make sure you get what you need.” He reaches for Zayn’s chin, tilting his face up. “Don’t I? Have I ever let you down?”

Zayn shakes his head, but he can’t put words to the fact that it’s not  _ Liam _ who’s letting  _ him _ down, it’s the other way around. Liam is  _ good _ , Liam always does his job. It’s  _ Zayn  _ who fucked up, Zayn who yelled at one of his best friends and one of the only people capable of really  _ understanding _ how Zayn feels sometimes. He’s felt isolated – an outsider. He was the only one of their merry band of miscreants who was a sub – he thought – and suddenly Harry was a sub and he wasn’t  _ alone _ anymore, and then he went and fucked it up, wasn’t considerate of Harry’s feelings at  _ all _ , just marched around, parading the fact that he could be authentically himself when  _ Harry _ –

“Zayn.” Liam’s voice is sharp. Zayn jerks up at his voice. “We’re going to fix it. Come on, you know the drill.” He pats his knee, and Zayn swallows hard, but lays over Liam’s lap. 

“Fifteen times,” Liam says, and Zayn is eternally grateful that Liam knows the kinds of lines he needs drawn in the sand. The count is the only warning he gets – Liam just brings his hand down hard against him, and for all that Zayn wants to stay quiet, doesn’t want to give into the satisfaction of release, doesn’t  _ deserve _ that kind of redemption, it startles him and he cries out, fingers tightening in the couch. “One,” he manages, after he catches his breath, and Liam brings his hand up and down again.

Zayn counts each one, his voice only cracking a bit towards the end, his knuckles turning white against the couch.

“That’s it,” Liam says finally, once Zayn’s croaked out  _ fifteen _ . He brushes a hand down Zayn’s back, across the skin of his arse, radiating heat, and then back up to the back of his head.

Zayn shifts and Liam braces him, helping him sit up. He can tell that Zayn’s not quite ready to be comforted yet, needs to bask in the pain just a little longer, and he does – the sting of his sore arse grounds him, and he tugs his trousers back up with a wince.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” Liam says, not touching Zayn but keeping his stance open, his legs spread just a little, his face smooth of lines. Everything about him radiates  _ forgiveness _ , and Zayn wants to choke on it. “You sit and think for awhile, yeah? While it’s running?” and Zayn nods, because Liam knows – he knows that Zayn needs the limits. He needs to know that he has an exact amount of time to wallow.

He perches gingerly on the edge of the couch, savoring the scrape against his tender skin, folding his hands in his lap. Liam goes to draw the bath, keeping the bathroom door open so he can keep an eye on Zayn, but gives him space to decompress.

The bath doesn’t take long to fill, and then Liam is back to get him, holding his hand out. All his guilt has spilled out around him by then, and his skin feels like he’s sprouted spines all over, leaking all his guilt out, all over the hotel room. He takes Liam’s hand and the spines immediately feel like they retract. The weight on his chest starts to melt. “That’s a good lad,” Liam says, his voice soft and gentle, sure, but probing. Zayn squeezes Liam’s hand, his own kind of affirmation. “Good lad,” he says again, his voice better than the bath Zayn is about to sink into.

Liam helps him undress slowly, murmuring things Zayn doesn’t really hear, but that help settle him, just the soft touches, tiny kisses against his skin. He sinks down into the bath and draws his legs up against his chest. Liam presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re alright, then,” he says, and his voice nearly blends with the slosh of the bathwater. “See? Just fine, aren’t you? You’ve done so well, Zayn,” he starts and Zayn’s shoulders draw up to his ears, his hands clenching into fists, not quite ready for the praise just yet. Liam backs off, rubbing his fingers against Zayn’s knee. “It’s alright,” he says softly. “You’re okay. Just relax now, yeah?”

Zayn nods carefully, letting his eyes slip closed, his shoulders sinking down into the water.

“That’s it,” Liam says, almost cooing. “I’m going to get you some water. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Zayn nods again, showing he understood and that Liam could safely leave him for as long as it took to get the water. He’s back, just as he promised, and isn’t that just like Liam, just like him to do as he said he would.

They go through the motions of the bath together, and then Liam towels him off gently, after, pressing kisses to each of his tattoos, the back of his shoulders, his ears.

“You’ve done well, Zayn,” he says, and Zayn doesn’t flinch this time, lets the praise wrap around him like a blanket as Liam leads him to the bed, wrapping both arms around him and holding him close. “You are not the mistakes you make,” he adds, his lips pressed against Zayn’s ear. Zayn closes his eyes, trying to sink into the moment, let it surround him, let it smooth out the ripples in his skin.

“I love you,” Liam adds after a long moment of just the two of them breathing in the other. “That will not change. It hasn’t, no matter what, alright? I love you, exactly as you are.”

Zayn smiles, brought down from where he was before. Liam returns the smile and presses a kiss to his forehead and his nose. Zayn reaches for his phone, settling into the crook of Liam’s arm, opening his messages to find one from Harry. He smiles again, that little bit of forgiveness like a balm on his sore feelings, picking out a reply that would reassure them both.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! I’d love to read any thoughts you care to spare!


End file.
